Counterpointe

by Ann Warner

  “Not if I had anything to say about it.” His tone was a near growl.

  Clare laughed. Then she sobered. “I’m worried about Tyrese.”

  “With good reason.”

  Not the reassurance she hoped for.

  “Rabbit located Tyrese,” John said when Clare arrived at Hope House the next morning. “He’s at Children’s Hospital.”

  “How is—?” Her throat closed on the rest of the words.

  “We don’t know. Beck and I are going to visit.”

  “I want to come with you.”

  “We figured you would.”

  At the hospital, she and John waited while Beck went to Tyrese’s room. When Beck returned, he looked somber. “It ain’t good. He’s been beat, real bad, and he’s awful sick.”

  “Can we see him?”

  “Ain’t much use. They got him drugged.”

  “I’d still like to see him,” Clare said.

  John went with her. When they reached Tyrese’s room, they found a policeman on guard outside the door. After calling Rabinowitz to get them approved, he let them enter. Clare laid her hand on the shoulder of the woman seated by the bed, then looked at the boy lying there.

  Tyrese’s eyes were swollen shut and he had cuts and bruising on his face and a heavy dressing on one arm. The middle finger on one hand was splinted.

  “My poor, poor baby.”

  Clare patted Nellie’s shoulder.

  “They surely near to kilt him.”

  While Clare reached out to touch Tyrese’s good hand, John took Nellie’s hands in his.

  “Oh my, oh my.” Nellie moaned, rocking back and forth in her chair. “They think my baby stabbed that Jamal.”

  “You’ve got to be strong for him.” John continued to hold her hands. “You need to tell us what happened.”

  “Don’t know nothing. Only know my boy, hurt. Hurt bad.”

  “How did that happen?” John asked.

  Nellie continued to rock, unable or unwilling to say more.

  John stood and motioned to Clare. “You try,” he whispered.

  She pulled a chair next to Nellie, sat down, and took one of Nellie’s hands in hers. “Would you mind if we said a prayer for Tyrese?” It had to be Vinnie’s influence rubbing off on her.

  “Oh, that would be real nice. Me and my boy would surely appreciate that.”

  Remembering how Vinnie led the prayers when they visited one of the men in the hospital, Clare motioned to John, and the three of them made a circle, holding hands with each other and the unconscious boy.

  Clare took a breath and began. “Heavenly Father, we know you are watching over your servants Nellie and Tyrese in their time of trouble. We ask you to keep them safe and to grant Tyrese a full return to health, and we ask you to lift the burden of suspicion from Tyrese. In the name of your son, Jesus, we pray.”

  “Amen,” Nellie said. “Thank you, Clare. That were real nice. Vinnie couldn’t have did any better.”

  Clare didn’t know how to start questioning Nellie until the other woman solved that for her. “Tuesday, Tyrese was sick. He was home in his bed when that Jamal got hisself kilt.”

  “You were with him?” Clare asked.

  “I work nights, and he was at home when I left. When I got back in the morning, he still there, sleeping. My poor baby. I got the baddest feeling I ever had.”

  “When did Tyrese get beat up?”

  Nellie rocked and moaned. “That why he sick. Come home Monday like that.” She pointed with her chin at the bed. “Wouldn’t let me do nothing, though. But when I couldn’t wake him Wednesday morning, I brung him here.”

  Nellie fell silent and John touched Clare’s shoulder and motioned it was time to go.

  “What do you think?” she asked him as they rejoined Beck.

  “Police are going to figure Tyrese went out Tuesday night and ambushed Jamal like the Bull Sharks are claiming, then got home before his mom did, and she’s covering for him.”

  “Nellie said he got beat up Monday, and there’s no way he could have gone out Tuesday and attacked someone bigger and stronger in that condition. Besides, he’d already broken his finger. Remember the last time he came to Hope House? It was swollen.”

  “I do, now that you mention it,” John said.

  Clare pictured Tyrese writing. “He had trouble holding a pen. So how could he hold a knife?”

  John rubbed his chin. “I’ll ask Rabbit if the M.E. can tell if the doer was right-handed or left-handed.”

  “It still don’t look good,” Beck said. “Look like a bunch of gangbangers beating on each other. Nobody going to have sympathy for Tyrese.”

  Chapter Twenty

  Soubresaut

  Sudden leap using both feet

  “You don’t look so good,” Sam said, coming to sit next to Rob in the opening to the hut.

  “Just tired.” He gritted his teeth at a sudden pain in his gut.

  Sam leaned toward him. “That wasn’t just a gas pain, was it?”

  “Probably it was.”

  “I didn’t want to mention it before, but operating the way I did, there could be sequelae.”

  “Sequelae. What does that mean?” He tried not to give in to the urge to rub his abdomen in front of her.

  “Adhesions, obstruction, strangulation.”

  “If you’re trying to make me nervous, you’re doing a damn fine job.” He gave in and pressed on his stomach.

  “You’d better let me take a look.”

  He hated the feeling of helplessness he’d had since the operation. And Sam giving him her doctor look. She pressed on his abdomen. “Jolley asked me to talk to you about calling your wife.”

  “Don’t.”

  “She has a right to know you almost died.”

  “What’s to be gained from telling her now? It’s not like she can do anything.”

  “Your decision. Liver’s normal.” She continued pressing and moving her hands around, frowning while she did it. Then she used her stethoscope to listen for bowel sounds. Finally, she sat back on her heels and reeled off several questions about bowel habits and flatulence that would have made him cringe if he wasn’t already miserable.

  “Well, I don’t think it’s serious,” she said, as he sat up and adjusted his clothing. “Just cramping, after all. Let me know if anything changes.”

  It sucked not being himself. The simplest tasks took more effort, proving the truth of Sam’s statement that he’d been right to the edge. Although he hadn’t seen any tunnels with bright lights at the ends, he now understood how easy dying could be. Understood as well how weak and vulnerable Clare must have felt after her injury.

  For the first time he realized what a temptation his proposal of marriage had been.

  Between rain showers, Rob and Sam took their evening constitutional around the village. “You ever been married, Sam?”

  She shook her head. “Almost. Once.”

  “What happened?”

  “We ended up different places for our residencies. He said it didn’t matter since we’d be sleepwalking through those years, anyway. Unfortunately, during a bout of sleepwalking, he got a nurse pregnant. Married her. Since then I’ve never had the time to get close enough to anyone else to consider making it permanent.”

  “You never said why you came on this expedition.”

  She glanced at him. “Maybe to save your life.”

  “You believe like the Chinese you’re responsible for a life you’ve saved?”

  “Good God no. If I did, I wouldn’t be able to even think about walking into an operating room.” She stopped and bent over to look at a plant. “Soraida and I talked about the responsibility of the healer.” Sam sounded thoughtful. “You want to guess what he said?”

  When she glanced up at him, he shook his head. “No idea.”

  “He said everyone, healer or not, affects everyone else. When we do a good turn we create a positive energy that goes out to the world and produces something splendid, a
flower, maybe...peace, love.” She straightened and they continued walking. “Whether it’s true, I like the idea.”

  Light slanted low through the branches of the trees surrounding the village and they walked for a time in that golden light.

  “As to why I came on this trip. Well, one day, it hit me. I could leave L.A., and nobody would miss me. Oh, sure. The guy who had to cover my shifts at the hospital, he’d miss me, but other than that...” She frowned, her gaze on the ground. “You believe in serendipity, Rob?”

  “You mean coincidence?”

  “More than coincidence. The stumbling over some piece of information right when you need it, or meeting someone who says something and you realize it’s an answer to a question you hadn’t asked yet but needed to.”

  “Like Kekulé dreaming about snakes and coming up with the structure for benzene,” Rob said. “Or Fleming discovering penicillin because his cultures got contaminated. It happens all the time in science.”

  “I think it happens all the time in ordinary life, we just don’t notice it. When I started on this trip, I was thinking about leaving medicine.” Her steps slowed along with her words.

  “I couldn’t see the point anymore. Patching up gang members who’d been stabbed or shot, just so they could go out and stab or shoot someone else. And then I’d patch up the someone else and...” She made a circular gesture with one hand and turned onto the narrow path leading to the stream the village used for its drinking water.

  “Your appendix reminded me of how I used to feel when an operation went well. I realized maybe I was making a difference, even when I couldn’t see it. Funny. I had to come all this way to discover what was right in front of me.”

  “My appendix is pleased to be of service.”

  “How about you?” She pointed at his left hand.

  He’d meant to leave his ring behind, but at the last minute he’d been unable to do it.

  “Have you been married long?”

  He shook his head. “A couple of years.”

  “Married before?”

  He had it coming. She’d answered his questions, after all. “She was the first.”

  “So what happened?”

  “She was a dancer. The prima ballerina in a major company. She was injured. Without dance, she wasn’t sure who she was. I took advantage of that. Got her to marry me.”

  “She could have said no.”

  “I could have helped her without marrying her.”

  “And after that?”

  “She got pregnant. Lost the baby. Pushed me away. Wouldn’t let me comfort her. It was...dreadful. I kept hoping she’d get better, but she didn’t. Finally, I accepted it wasn’t going to work. That’s when I decided to come on this trip.”

  They reached the small stream and stood watching the water curl by.

  “Would you have regretted not marrying her as much as you appear to regret marrying her?”

  He stood thinking about it. Not to answer Sam, but because it was something he ought to know. Except, it was unknowable. As unknowable as whether he’d ever loved the real Clare or a fabrication that existed in his imagination.

  “You ever had an operation?” he asked instead.

  “No, thank goodness.”

  “It makes you vulnerable. Weak. Lets things leak out you can normally keep under wraps.”

  “Well, if you can’t talk to the person who’s seen what you’re really like on the inside, who can you talk to?”

  Indeed.

  “You know,” she continued, sounding solemn. “There are those who say we know we’re becoming wise when we see value in our deepest pains.”

  “You manage that yet?” he asked.

  “I think it takes a very long time and lots of experiences, both good and bad.”

  He wondered if six months in the jungle and two encounters with death would be enough.

  Clare was surprised to hear Denise’s voice on the apartment intercom since it had been months since they last spoke. Then she opened the door to find not only Denise but Stephan. Stephan, whose bad day had ended her career.

  “My God, Clare, your hair. You’re Odette, in the flesh. It suits you.”

  Clare motioned them inside, not letting Denise’s comment wound. Odette. The White Swan. “It’s been awhile.”

  “My fault. Totally,” Denise said.

  But it wasn’t. After she lost the baby, Clare cut her ties with the past. Not that difficult to do. With the exception of Denise, as far as the company of Danse Classique was concerned, she’d as good as dropped off the planet.

  Clare led them to the living room, asking if they wanted something to drink. Playing little Mary Homemaker as if it were a role.

  “Nothing for us, Clare. We came because we have fantastic news.” Denise pulled her down to sit next to her on the sofa while Stephan grabbed one of the dining table chairs, swung it around, and straddled it, facing them.

  “Stephan had this absolutely, stupendously, fabulous idea.” Denise glanced at Stephan, a proud expression on her face. “We’re doing a fundraiser to help dancers transition into other careers. We’ve got a theater lined up and most of the company is committed to perform, and we thought, that is, Stephan and I, that you might be willing to choreograph a number for the two of us. You know. Like those dances you used to make up after rehearsals?”

  “I’m sorry. I can’t.”

  “But, Clare,” Denise said. “It’s a terrific chance to stick a finger in Justin’s eye. We know how rotten he treated you after your injury. If you hadn’t married Rob, well, you would have had a really tough time.”

  But she did have a tough time. Marrying Rob hadn’t prevented it, just postponed it.

  Stephan picked up the discussion, sounding as earnest as Denise. “What happened to you forced us to think.”

  “It shouldn’t end the way it did for you.” Denise’s lip trembled and, for a moment, she stopped speaking. “We’ll all need something to do, eventually.”

  “Yeah. Nissie’s right. Not thinking about it doesn’t keep it from happening.”

  It was all coming at Clare too fast. Denise turned philosopher and Stephan sticking his neck out with an idea Justin was sure to hate. “I’m sorry. I can’t do it. I’m leaving, you see. Moving back to Cincinnati.”

  “When?” Denise asked.

  A good question. Tyrese was still in the hospital and nobody could estimate how long his legal case might drag out, and Clare wasn’t leaving until that was settled.

  “Soon.” She rubbed her head then found herself staring at Denise’s hands. On the fourth finger of her left hand was a ring.

  Clare reached out and touched it. “What’s this?”

  Denise blushed and looked over at Stephan. “We’re getting married.”

  “Why, that’s wonderful news.”

  “Yeah. Well.” Stephan shifted uncomfortably. “About the benefit?”

  Denise gave Clare a steady look. “Don’t you dare say no. We won’t accept it. We need five minutes of choreography to the music of your choice. We’re getting married in June. Consider it a wedding gift.”

  “I can’t do it.”

  Denise patted her hand. “It’ll be such fun, working together again.” She looked at Stephan, who stood and replaced the chair. Then Denise smiled at Clare, as if she had said yes instead of no.

  Clare closed the door behind Denise and Stephan and stood for a moment, clutching her arms around herself. It felt as though a cold breeze was wafting through the apartment, chilling her. She stumbled into Rob’s study and huddled in his easy chair, trying to stop the shaking.

  Tyrese and now this.

  All of it pushing at her, making her restless and uncertain, just when she’d started to feel normal and purposeful for the first time since her injury.

  With her departure from Boston on hold because of Tyrese, Clare began to search for a temporary place to live so she could vacate the apartment before Rob returned. She shared her frustration with Sally during o
ne of their after-school coffees. “Everything I look at is ugh!” She shuddered at the memory of dingy apartments and resident hotels smelling of cats, curry, and cabbage, and most of them far too expensive.

  “I have a friend who lives in an upstairs apartment in her parents’ house in West Roxbury. She’s getting married and she wants to make sure the apartment is rented to someone who will be nice to her folks and not throw wild parties.”